Koi no Yokan
by lanawords
Summary: [Japan/Taiwan] - "koi no yokan – (n.) (phr.) the sense one has upon meeting another person that they will fall in love."


**_Koi no Yokan (n.) (phr.) - the sense one has upon meeting another person that they will fall in love._**

**[a/n: the fic was inspired by the phrase above, translation & credits to: other-wordly. i like reading angst but gosh finishing them is a pain. aaaanyways i think this is basically pointless but well here's a light fluff to help you forget your sad feels for things]**

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_Of course_, Mei sighs as she checks her wrist. It's past 10.30 by the time she arrives at the station. She rubs her arms, covered by her barely-there, and worse,_soaked_ sweater, slightly marveling over the steam her breath starts to produce. She ponders on the possibility of her getting a hypothermia.

She juggles her unopened can of warm coffee she just bought from a nearby vending machine between her two hands and jiggles her legs—something her mother would scold if she ever find Mei do—yet another attempts to make her body warm. She checks the time again, and then the information panel: fifteen more minutes until the next train comes. The station is already scarce of commuters, save for some people working late, two tourists in her sight, and a drunk old man. Mei scoots further from the man. She sighs once more upon finding both her ipod and phone are out of battery, and finally, gives in to the temptation of the hot coffee in her hand, and drinks it. Mei lets out a breath as the warm liquid make its way through her system.

The station is almost empty, no song is played by the operator, and virtually there are no sounds except for the rain and the wind. As such, everyone—including Mei herself—waiting on Mei's platform turn their heads at the loud clanking sound of metal falling from the entrance; before the ticket reader, a slightly small (and clearly overwhelmed) young man with black hair and dark coat rummages around his pockets and backpack, ignoring the set of metal pipes falling near him.

Mei stands and walks towards the man—she doesn't know him at all, she was about to throw her empty can away. And yet, she glances towards the young guy again in curiosity—he is now looking through his pockets and his wallet for something (Mei assumes it's the card), and he is also visibly anxious. And before she knows it, Mei is across him in front of the ticket reader.

"Ah—yes?" He asks when he realizes Mei's presence, trying to smile, but it very obviously fails as he panics when picking up the long pouch that gives off the noise and one big box and both fall down once again, echoing through the whole platform.

"Something wrong?" She asks him back—and the back of her mind is nagging _not your business. It's not your business. He's a stranger, Mei. Why bother? You have your own problems to deal with._

"No—yes. I cannot find my card and I bring the wrong wallet. This has nothing," he vents at last, showing a brief frustration and as if out of reflex, Mei holds out her card and smiles.

"Here, use mine."

Mei can bet that the guy's surprise is mirrored on her face; she has no idea where does that come from, the impulse that has her handing her card to a complete stranger. She begins to feel hot around her neck and cheeks as they stare at each other—him in something resembling an awe—and she knows it's not from the warmth of her coffee but she stubbornly convinces herself otherwise. She is about to retreat her card, already feeling ashamed and stupid, when the guy takes it and smiles slightly, swiping it above the sensor.

"Thank you," he says, handing the card back and continues his struggles with the long bag and a big but thin cardboard box. "How do I pay this back—"

"No, no, keep it," she says, and he stares. Mei grins, and opens her bag, taking out her wallet. "I have an extra," she explains, taking out a similar card from the pink wallet. He blinks, and then shakes his head.

"I will just buy a ticket to the way out," he politely says, setting his many belongings on the floor carefully as to not make any more noise. "I am sure I still have some little money somewhere in my bag."

"Better safe than sorry, though," she smiles. She decides to help him to carry his things and they both walk to a long bench. "And I have an extra, no worries. The card I just gave you has little credits left anyways—not that I mean that I give it to you because—"

"Better safe than sorry," he chuckles as they sit, the sound calm and composed, and Mei notices an edge to his formal and careful words—an accent, similar, but not quite the same as hers and her brother Yao's. She realized before as she first saw him up close that he has to be someone of an Asian descent, maybe Japanese or Korean. His eyes then travels a little downwards to her soaked attire, and Mei has the tendency to blush and feel alarmed of her wet clothes that still cling a little bit, and her damp hair that god knows looks like what. "Yet you did not bring an umbrella nor a coat."

Even though she's ashamed that he points out her situation, she can't help but feel slightly annoyed. But as she bites back a pout (and a retort that it's better that you get wet because you didn't bring an umbrella than you have a hard time because you didn't bring your wallet) he reaches out to his backpack, and pulls his navy-blue umbrella, still a bit soaked, but neatly tucked by its string to the bag's left strap. She blinks, and then laughs.

"Well, this umbrella was not very expensive either," he says, an amused twinkle apparent on his eyes though his expression doesn't change that much. Mei takes it gratefully. "Do you bring a spare umbrella, then?"

"No," he smiles, "do not worry, though, I have my coat here. And my apartment is very close to the station."

"Hey, still," she protests, and shakes her head, "my apartment's close to the station too."

"You need it more," he says calmly, and she knows that it's true. "Consider it a barter."

"Thank you," she grins finally and he nods—bows slightly—and smiles. She looks up to the clock. Three minutes till the train comes. She tilts her head and looks at him again, and immediately regrets it. He messes his hair, and the shiny black locks similar to her own stubbornly falls back messily around his face, as he positions his box and his pouch upwards. Mei bites her lower lip and looks away as another stubborn blush invades her face and neck again.

"Do you always take the late train?" He asks without looking at her face. "I usually do, but I did not think I have seen you."

"Oh," she squeaks, "um, no. Usually I take the one at six or seven. I—um, I'm kind of held up today."

He nods. "My name is Kiku Honda. Before you ask about my pronunciations about some particular letters, yes, that is because I am Japanese," he says and smiles. Mei opens her mouth and attempts to answer, _I'm Mei_, but harsh wind hit them as the train they were waiting for pulls to a stop. She stands up as Kiku does the same and she helps him with his things. Mei rarely takes the late train, and she knows that it wouldn't be as crowded as the evening ones, but she's still surprised at the sight of almost completely empty chairs. The 6 PM train is usually quite crowded and she usually stands up, and even at 9.30 PM, the latest train she's been onto, there are still quite a few people on the seats. Kiku utters his thank you as they sit and the doors close.

"I'm Mei Lin Wang. I'm Chinese-Taiwanese. I'm probably bound to have some weird pronunciations too," she laughs and offers Kiku a handshake. His hand is warm. The train begins to accelerate.

"So," she says after a short spread of silence, "you always take the late trains? Because of the seats?"

"You can say that," he smiles. His hair has already gone back from its messy state to a sleeker one, like when she first sees him. "Though the fact that my work shift is finished at ten also contributes to that."

"Ah," she says, and breathes out, "what do you do?"

"I work part-time as a clerk in a bookstore," he explains, "actually I am still studying in college."

"Oh! Me too," she says excitedly. The elderly man at the end of the unit stirs, while a woman at the same end, but opposite side, glances at Mei. She turns her volume down, "I'm a literature junior."

"I major in graphic design and visual animation. Also a junior," he replies. She nods and smiles, suddenly becoming aware that they have stopped at two stations—which means that she would have to get off on the fifth after that.

"What's that, if I may ask?" She says, pointing at his things, letting out her restrained curiosity. She has an idea about it, though.

"Ah, it is actually a desk. A knock-down drawing desk, to be exact. I have been using my roommate's, but since he majors in architecture, we both need the drawing desk about as often," Kiku says, bringing the long bag up again.

Mei nods, at loss again about what to say. Kiku doesn't seem much of a conversation starter. She doesn't want to seem annoying and nosy, but she likes company. But then again, she reasons, she's not the type that tries too hard to get someone else talking. She sinks slightly to her seat, scolding herself because of the stubborn voice that tells her that even so, she wants to talk to Kiku more. Mei absently combs her hair—it's not as wet, but it's still damp—with her fingers as she looks up. Two more stop.

_Nononono please slow down please slow down._

_Will we meet again, when you take your normal trains back?_

_Goddammit, Mei, ask his number or something. Anything—seriously._

_You do not meet someone who gives you their ticket every day._

"Hey," she begins, and surprisingly, Kiku says it too. She thinks that Kiku brightens up slightly as she begins another conversation, but she brushes it off.

"You first," she says again, only to find Kiku saying the exact same thing at the same time. Mei laughs immediately while he smiles, and motions for her to talk first.

"You said this is a barter," she starts, toying with Kiku's umbrella in her grip. Kiku blinks and nods. "But what if it's not of same value, though? I mean, your umbrella, and my ticket card. That way I'm probably still indebted, right? And honestly, I don't like to be indebted," she finishes bravely, feeling the warmth seeping in her neck and ignores it.

She watches as Kiku tilts his head and thinks for a while instead of straight out saying_ no, it is alright, Mei, you can keep the umbrella_, and her cold fingertips begin to warm again. He looks at her, slowly smiles and his eyes that have been looking deep and almost emotionless for the past twenty-something minutes, begin to smile as well. "Well. You could buy me coffee. Or I could buy you coffee, if, say, your ticket has more credits than my umbrella's worth."

Mei can't even tell the grin that spreads on her face coming. One more stop. "I'd like that," she says to Kiku, "I can totally work with that."

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**[a/n: wow that was the epitome of terrible]**

**[a/n2: another repost from tumblr yo. hope you enjoy x]**


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